Don't Die
by Mirayroo
Summary: It's a simple question, but his teeth clench and he finds it difficult to find his voice.


Ribbons of red curl and coil as fingers spiral; it is hesitant and unsure. However, with patience, the strands of ginger wind into an array or warm, autumn colour and heat. A tongue pokes out, running over dry lips in concentration, fingers pause, rewinding a few twists and commencing again. It's captivating, the red strands, once messy and wild, quickly become neatly sorted together, forming a interweave of crimson fire.

" You know… I used ta' hate my hair. " Her voice breaks the silence. He looks up, keeping his grip on the ginger locks.

A smile erupts on his lips and lets out a deep chuckle, " And why is that? "

She shrugs her freckled shoulders. He tsks when it messes up his work. " I don't know. Jus'… It was different, ya' know? I didn't… I didn't like bein' different. Mama always said it made me unique, special in ma' own way. But I didn't like standin' out. " She stops, picking at her coral painted nails, " That was the only reason really. Then… then this other girl started goin' to my school, and she had red hair too. Was dyed, but still, made me feel less outta' place. "

He ties the ending strands with a small elastic, feeling somewhat pleased with his work. Braiding hair wasn't his number one hobby. He brushes the gathered hair over her shoulder, letting his fingers linger on her cold skin for a moment longer than he should. Their tent is cramped and the air is too heated and thick to breathe properly. He reminds himself not to open the tent flap. They didn't want any biters coming in for a midnight snack. The light of the lantern flickers, his eyes glance from it back to the constellations scattered across pale skin.

" World's gone to hell, " He says, " You're hair is the last thing to worry about. Besides, I like it the way it is. " He kisses her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her back to his torso as they sit alone in the dim camp.

" Well, easy for you to say, I don't remember seein' you brush yours as long as I've known ya." She smiles, her hands moving to caress his arms. Her head tilts back; his nose brushes her neck.

He laughs, breath leaving warmth on her skin, " I brush it. Sometimes. "

She repeats him, emphasizing his word choice, " _Sometimes. _" He mumbles somewhat incoherently, his lips moving softly against her as he speaks.

She shakes her head, turning around, hands leaving his arms and finding new residence on his neck, she snakes her fingers into the hair on the back of his head. Her legs reposition and she sits in his lap, his own hands hover cautiously, unsure of what she wants him to do, before finding their way to her hip and thigh.

" Y'know Vince, I could probably braid yours too. " She chuckles, his brows furrow and an unimpressed ' No thanks. ' leaves his mouth. Her hands trail down once more, resting on his bare chest. Her fingernails scratch his skin slightly. Her light-hearted demeanor falls, her eyebrows twisting upwards and her teeth biting at her lower lip. She speaks quietly, "Do you ever think about how your life would'a turned out if all this never 'appened? "

" Bonnie, don't talk like that. " His fingers find their way to the braid he made previously, moving it, brushing the strands of hair over her collarbone. He looks away from her, down to his hand on her hip.

" Why? "

It's a simple question, but his teeth clench and he finds it difficult to find his voice, " I would've been locked up. I would've been in there… heh, for a _really _long time. "

She asks him how long, but he shrugs. He doesn't remember. The world has been hell for over a year now, he doesn't remember how long his life was going to be taken from him, it was taken now. His eyes find hers once more and he replaces his regretful face with one of delight.

" Wouldn't have meet you either; unless you got shipped off to prison. "

She smiles, punching his arm, " Watch out, I'm pretty bad. "

" Oh, you're gonna kill me in my sleep? " He jokes.

She falters, he almost doesn't notice. She covers it up, " Nah, you're too cute. " And she kisses him. It's not hurried and needy, and it's not slow and passionate, it's calm, it's soft, and it's filled with pure adoration. His hands, which were resting on her thighs, move; they move up to her hips and to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. Her fingers once again tangle in his dark hair and they draw it out. It's not a heated make-out, and it's not a quick peck, it's just lips connecting and moving as one. He sighs and her pink lips pull away just as fast as they reached him.

Her eyes open and their wet with tears, when he notices, he tries to ask about it, but she throws her arms around his neck and holds him. He holds her too.

" Don't die. Not yet. " She says, and he thinks maybe he took that joke a bit too far.

His grip tightens, " I won't. "


End file.
